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Reflections and Expectations

Title: Reflections and Expectations
Characters/Pairings: Castiel
Notes/warnings: Just had to write this after watching that episode again. Its gen, but it could be Dean/Cas if you looked at it that way I suppose.
Word Count: 521 words
Summary (at which I suck): Castiel's internal monologue as he watches Dean sleep after their talk at Bobby's at the end of 6.20 The Man Who Would Be King.


Out of all the things he expected, it was never this.

As the angel gazed down at his charge’s sleeping form he allowed himself a moment to reflect.

Their first meeting, fuelled by anger, where they had first laid eyes upon each other. The first time the hunter had first viewed the reason for him simply being again. The first time the angel could survey his handy work of resurrection, a task he had not believed he would ever get a chance to attempt.

Irritated by the nerve of his charge to dare summon him, the angel had pushed his anger outwards. Unconsciously creating howling winds, and shattering light bulbs, causing sparks to flare and fade around his form as he strode into the barn on that fateful night.

It was now, upon reflection, that the angel realised that he had been headed this way from the start.

Those doorways to doubt beginning a long time before conscious thought took over.

For a being that was never supposed to have feelings, the righteous one had pulled those reactions from him all too easily right from the very beginning.

From the first crude summoning spell, to the speech he gave just a few hours ago.

“You are like a brother to me.”

Something new and still unknown in the Angel’s borrowed flesh twinged at the memory.

“It's not too late. Damn it, Cas! We can fix this!”

The hurt in the hunter’s eyes.

“You should have come to us for help, Cas. I was there, where were you?”

Desperate, but resigned words, they both already knew how this would end.

“I’m sorry Dean.”

“Well, I’m sorry, too, then.”

The resignation, the pain he emanated made the angel’s own feelings flare in turmoil.

Anger, why couldn’t they believe in him for once.

Frustration, nothing was how it was supposed to be. In a world where the rules were thrown out, he was just simply trying to fix it as best he knew how.

The terror and revulsion at dealing with a demon. “The new God and the new Devil, working together.”

But most overwhelmingly, disappointment at the only man he had ever been able, and willing, to call his friend.

“You had a choice, you just made the wrong one.”

The words still sting, and his vessel’s heart aches to wake the sleeping figure, to explain himself again.

“If I’m asking you not to do something, you gotta trust me man.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll do what I have to do to stop you.”

Another feeling burst through him, determination.

He reached, arm outstretched, fingers stopping just short of contact.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered. “I have to do this. It’s the only way.”

Setting his jaw and squaring his shoulders he spared one last glance for the hunter, peaceful in sleep.

“You will see I’m right.” With that he turned and left, disappearing in the space of a blink, foolishly refusing to acknowledge his last emotion.

A feeling that had caused the fall of powerful nations, was the downfall of so many men and women, and left thousands dead in it’s wake.

Pride.